What happens when a creative feels too much, thinks too much, and is everywhere all at once?
They allocate their energy in a plethora of ways, keeping them preoccupied from the present. Some would explore new hobbies. Others would take the itch off and book the next trip to Vietnam (yes ang specific! It’s all over my feed right now). While a few will find solace in their own heads.
The banig weavers in our partner communities seem as though they are fully in the moment of what they are creating. Their hands move with intention and each pattern is a careful thought that guides their creative process. There is no rush to leave the present because the present is where everything is made.
But in truth, their minds wander, too. They think of their families, the domestic chores, the unpaid bills, the unending list of things to do and accomplish.
I find myself in awe knowing there are people who do not fear their minds being silent. People who can stay rooted in what is in front of them without needing to escape it. I have grown accustomed to the opposite, filling every quiet space with thought, movement, or memory.
There’s comfort in the internal conversations with the self. You hear your voice clearer than most and read people better once you start debriefing every little encounter you get. Perhaps this is one of the reasons why my memory fails me a lot. I remember my thoughts more than accounts of meeting up with friends, events, or even what I ate this morning. My mind plays movies 24/7 on who I want to be, what I could’ve done differently, or where I wish to escape. Many would call people like me a daydreamer but as someone still blossoming in her early 20s, I refuse to look back and regret that I have lived more in my head than being “present at present.”
This idea of being “present at present” was first introduced to me by my SPED teacher in UP. I took this elective by chance as I needed to fill my pending number of units that sem. You don’t exactly have the luxury of choosing nor curating your own classes in UP. Most of it relies on luck – either you get the worst professor out there or the demand of the class you want is so high that you have to literally beg other professors to take you in (demands would go as high as 300 students with only 25 slots available). For this class, I won the enrollment lottery!
When I first met my Special Education professor, I got hit by a wave of admiration. She carried herself with grace. She was confident in her gait and spoke charismatically to the class. She was a woman of faith, newly married, and just recently discovered that she was pregnant! All I could think of then was “I want to be like her.” She was an added blueprint of how I wish to serve people one day. Though I no longer remember the history behind the different disabilities, I will never forget how she always reminds the class to “be present at present.”
At that time, it sounded simple. But like most truths that actually stick, it followed me long after the semester ended. It would show up quietly, in the middle of ordinary moments: while waiting for my coffee, scrolling on TikTok, or during conversations where I catch myself nodding without really listening.
To be “present at present” is not just about physically being somewhere. It’s about choosing to ground yourself fully within the situation; not dragging the past from behind you nor fast-forwarding into a future that hasn’t happened yet. And that’s the difficult part, isn’t it?
Because for people like us, the ones who feel deeply and think endlessly, presence can feel like a compromise. Why stay in the now when your mind can build worlds? Why sit in silence when you can analyze, replay, and imagine better versions of everything? But I’m starting to realize that presence isn’t the absence of imagination. It’s the discipline of showing up to your current reality.
Showing up for moments that don’t beg to be remembered, yet quietly shape you anyway. It means resisting the urge to immediately turn every experience into a lesson or a story.
In my case, it’s learning to listen without planning a response or letting an hour pass without overthinking if I was productive enough or not. Trust me, living more in your head is more tiring than just simply living in the present.
It’s only natural to drift toward what calls our attention. But being present at present is a quiet reminder that we don’t have to answer every call just to feel alive. Sometimes it's found in the silence of nothings, being immersed in a task without having to think of the next, and just remembering that what is present is enough.
